


A Bit of A Stretch

by zetsubonna



Series: All American Bicycle [12]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fisting, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Multi, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Sex Talk, Short
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-04-11 02:09:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4416977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zetsubonna/pseuds/zetsubonna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anonymous requested: Would you be willing to elaborate on the implied fisting from your NSFW stucky headcanons post please?</p><p>This is very short and it is all talk and no action. We'll see if I write more of this later. :P</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“That’s not real,” Bucky said, squinting at Steve.

Steve raised his eyebrow. “It’s real, Buck. I’ve done it.”

“With who?” Bucky demanded, and when Steve blushed and wouldn’t immediately say, Bucky snorted. “You’re a  liar.”

“I’ve done it,” Steve insisted. “I’ve had it done, anyway, same thing.”

“With who?” Bucky demanded again. “Exactly who did you let get a hand up your ass like a puppet?”

Steve smiled and slowly raised his eyebrow. “Sam.”

“Fucking liar,” Bucky snapped, flushed and red because Bucky liked Sam and Steve knew it, but Bucky knew his head was fucked up and he was not ready yet, he wasn’t ready for Sam, he was barely ready for Steve, he could barely fucking jerk off, and now he had this persistent image in his head of Sam’s beautiful, gorgeous wrist, at last bereft of his fucking stylish watch, stretching out Steve’s ass like-

“Hurts?” he asked, his vocabulary truncated, starting to drag his stim necklace back and forth across the chain.

“Little bit,” Steve said, his smile going tighter, more smug and intentionally vague. “Mostly didn’t. He knows what he’s doing.”

“Fuck off,” Bucky snarled, his face contorted because he couldn’t decide how to feel about it.

“A million questions about his dick,” Steve said, starting to grin, “Easily a million, did everything but ask me to draw you a damn picture, but not his hand?”

“How?” Bucky said, tighter, lower, pulling the chain tight against the back of his neck.

“Lotta slick,” Steve drawled, leaning back in his chair. “Lotta slick, lotta patience, that real soft voice he does when you’re having a flashback or puking, lotta kisses on your back, says sweet stuff. Not too different from you, honestly.”

Bucky couldn’t breathe for a while. “Liar,” he finally said again, softer, less certain.

“He might, if you ask,” Steve said, infuriating, coaxing, leaning close to gently trail his fingers through Bucky’s hair. “He might. Or I could ask, and you could watch. You up to watch yet, Buck?”

Bucky scraped his bottom lip in his teeth and nodded.

Steve reached for the phone and Bucky yelped. “Now?”

“Gonna need a lot of lube,” Steve reminded him. “And patience. Go make Sam a cocoa, Buck.”

Bucky squirmed and snorted irritably, but got to his feet just the same.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The importance of negotiating a new kink with all parties involved cannot be underestimated, according to Sam.

Bucky wasn’t sure about any of it.

The smell of cocoa and ginger cookies lingered in the air, and on Sam’s breath, Bucky was sure, though of course he wasn’t close enough to taste Sam’s breath, he was still hanging back like a skittish cat.

Sam didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t seem to mind, either, the way Bucky stared at him with red in his ears as Sam loosened the buckle on his watch and slid it off his hand, dropping it in the candy bowl on the coffee table.

Steve was in his pajama pants, looking smug, Bucky could tell without even looking at him. Bucky didn’t remember if Steve had always been this way when he was about to get his way, but Bucky had a feeling it was true.

“How’d this even come up?” Sam asked, snapping Bucky out of his blush-induced haze.

“Buck was on the Internet,” Steve said, prim, popping the B in his name and the T at the end of the phrase, his voice making Bucky think of school, for some reason, an image he tried not to let get too tangled up with nuns from other incidences in his later life. “He said it wasn’t real.”

“Well, it ain’t. Not like they do it on the Internet,” Sam said, turning his look on Bucky like he always did when Steve was playing Bucky’s mouthpiece and Bucky was feeling nonverbal. “They do a lot of stops and cuts in porn, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Bucky echoed softly, clearly uncertain. He fidgeted with the knee of his jeans.

“That’s not what he was saying,” Steve corrected, his posture getting straighter. “He didn’t think-”

Sam held up a hand at Steve and gave Bucky a kind, prompting look, his brows up. His wrist was slightly marked from the watch band. Bucky picked at the knee of his jeans again to fight the tingle to rub those marks out in the tips of the fingers of his right hand.

“It’d hurt,” Bucky said, stilted and rasping, which made his ears redder. He couldn’t look at Steve, he knew. He’d scowl, and get mad at Steve, and want to go hide in his room rather than wanting to crawl closer to Sam on his knees and rub out the marks from his watchband. His other wrist was perfect. Unmarred. Smooth.

“Sure, for a civilian,” Sam said, nodding. “It’s a special occasion kind of thing, if you’re not a professional. Maybe once or twice a year, if that.”

“If that,” Bucky repeated, licking his lips, still looking at Sam’s wrist instead of his face. He’d read about people who didn’t want to talk, or couldn’t always, online somewhere. Breaking eye contact helped. Repeating also helped. He’d get his vocabulary back eventually. Maybe.

“Even if you’re Steve,” Sam said, glaring at Steve, which made Bucky’s lips twitch and ache for a smile he almost managed. “You could still get hurt, pushing yourself. It’s a delicate area.”

Steve had the audacity to look embarrassed.

Sam gestured for Steve to come sit by him on the couch, then indicated his emptied chair for Bucky.

“Can’t have you perching like a gargoyle,” Sam explained. “Need to see your face, if we’re gonna talk about this kind of thing. One of my hard rules.”

Bucky glanced at Steve from the chair, his brows arching in question.

“Sam’s big on talking before he does anything,” Steve said, wrinkling his nose and giving Bucky a sheepish smile.

“You never were,” Bucky remembered, giving Steve the barest flicker of a frown.

“I’m working on that,” Sam said, folding his arms. Bucky watched Sam’s wrist come to rest on the outside of his elbow. The one with the watch marks on it disappeared into the opposite elbow, shadowed, hidden. “I’m not big on risks in the bedroom. Save those for the field.”

Bucky managed to aim his smile at Sam’s lips. Not his eyes, but his lips. He dragged his tags along their chain quietly as he did so. “Smart.”

“Risk aware,” Sam said, shrugging. It felt like a correction. Bucky wished he had the laptop. Maybe it was a reference he didn’t get. “What part of it made you nervous?”

Bucky’s lips parted, but the flat of his tongue stayed pressed into the roof of his mouth. He lifted his eyes to the right as he drew in breath to try again. “Size.”

Steve’s mouth opened, but he clamped it closed again when Bucky didn’t let any more words out and Sam uncrossed his arms to put a steadying hand on Steve’s knee. Even Bucky wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement.

“Nobody’s doing it with Lefty,” Sam said, flat, and Bucky saw Steve recoil a little.

“No,” Bucky agreed, shaking his head vigorously, just as certain as Sam had been.

“Even I-” Steve began.

Bucky and Sam both looked at him.

Steve’s chin dipped slightly, his eyes darting down and to the left. “Not _seriously_ , anyway.”

“I don’t think there’s a glove that could make those ridges safe enough not to tear something,” Sam said, still flat. “And even if there were-”

“No,” Bucky said again, more firmly, finding his voice. “I don’t _want_ to.”

“And we don’t push,” Sam said, taking his eyes off Steve, who looked down into his lap, his lips crooked with a wry smile at the corners. “So, look at your other hand.”

Bucky sucked his lower lip into his mouth. It was dry, almost chapped. He scraped it with his teeth before rubbing his tongue across it, which made his taste buds feel like the grain of a sheet of sandpaper, only hot and wet. He spread his right hand apart in his lap, then curled his fingers together slowly.

“You don’t actually do it with a fist, not unless you’re already really experienced on both sides,” Sam said, watching Bucky look at his own fingers. “Even then, it’d take time, if you were being properly careful. Time, patience, lube, and foreplay.”

“Foreplay.” Bucky tasted the word, quietly. He was pretty sure what it meant, but it didn’t slide into his ear the way it should have.

“All that kissing and cuddling you always wanted to do for seventeen years before you’d get around to fucking anybody,” Steve supplied, earning himself a hard look from Sam and a soft snort from Bucky.

“Not everybody’s got reveille going on down there as soon as he thinks about it,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “Works different if you use the upstairs and the downstairs brains simultaneously, you know.”

Bucky’s shoulders shook under his oversized hoodie, pressing his lips together to hide teeth he was sure had flashed at Sam accidentally. Sam rolled his eyes as he turned them back to Bucky’s face.

“You start the way you pretty much always start,” Sam said. “Clean up, get a lot of lube- Steve always calls it slick, but I’m not a relic like you two- ease your way in, a finger at a time. Loosen the muscle. If you can get three fingers in there and it doesn’t hurt, it’s a little skip to four, isn’t it?”

Bucky couldn’t remember. It’d been ages; of that he was certain.

“You don’t do them four straight up and down, you know?” Sam said, leaning closer to Bucky to help him keep from getting lost in his own head. “That’d hurt. It’d be like a saw, trying to go in and out.  You curve them together, see? Like this.”

He held up his hand. Not the watch hand, the _right_ hand, and Bucky bit the inside of his mouth. He couldn’t look at Sam’s face, it was like looking at the sun half the time, but his _hands_ just looked so _nice_. Bucky tried to think if he wanted to kiss Sam’s hands.

Maybe. Maybe every knuckle. Maybe his nails. Maybe the backs of them where the veins stood when he held something thin, like his poker chips in their card games.

Definitely his wrists. Both of them. Bucky parted his lips to talk, then closed them, trying to bring back Sam’s words. He folded his fingers in to imitate Sam’s gesture.

“And then your thumb goes into the pocket,” Sam said, slow and patient. “It doesn’t happen all at once. You might take a break in the middle, get water, have sex. Maybe a couple of times.”

“Twice worked,” Steve volunteered helpfully. “Three times couldn’t hurt.”

“Normal people can’t _go_ three times without a _nap_ ,” Sam chided him. “Jesus, Steve. Need to add ‘goddamn succubus’ to your list of super soldier abilities.”

Bucky smiled absently, flexing his fingers, watching his hand, then letting his eyes drift, periodically back to Sam’s wrist. He tried to call up the image of Steve’s body to go along with Sam’s hands, but it was desperately hazy, nothing he could put together in a concrete way.

The thought of Sam’s fingers going into _him_ made Bucky flush so hard and so sudden his mouth went dry and his hips shifted from one side to the other in his chair. He held his breath until he was sure Steve and Sam hadn’t noticed his squirm, then dropped his eyes back to his lap.

He was half hard. It was disorienting, but not unpleasant. _Definitely_ not unpleasant.

Sam and Steve were still talking. Bucky winced. He had missed a whole lot of things, he was sure.

“The important thing,” Sam was saying as Bucky tuned back in, “is that we’re all on the same page.”

“Of course,” Steve agreed. “That’s obvious, right, Buck?”

“What page?” Bucky asked. His mouth was so dry. He scanned the coffee table for his cup before remembering it was empty.

“The talking isn’t just about before,” Sam said. “It’s before, but it’s during, too. I check in a lot. There’s no point in going on if not everyone’s having fun.”

Bucky glanced at Steve, who nodded at him.

“We use the traffic lights,” Sam continued. “Green is ‘I’m good, keep going.’ Yellow is ‘I’m not enjoying this, let’s do something else.’ Red is ‘we need to stop everything right now.’ And if you don’t answer when the other person checks in, that’s an automatic red.”

Drawing in a deep, ragged breath, Bucky said, quiet and pained, “I can’t always _talk_.”

Steve chewed the inside of his lip, but didn’t say anything.

“I’ll think about it,” Sam said, gracious, leaning back into the couch. “We’ll figure something out. We’re pretty bright guys, aren’t we?”

“You could nod, though, right, Buck?” Steve asked, leaning forward. “If we said the colors to you, you could nod on them, maybe?”

Bucky glanced at Sam, wondering if the pleading was plain in his expression.

“Might work,” Sam nodded, slow and thoughtful. “Mix ‘em up, talk when you can, nod when you can’t. We’re going to start a hell of a lot easier than fisting, though, okay? Even with you just watching. I don’t teach people to swim by throwing them off the high dive into the deep end.”

“That’s fair,” Bucky said, starting to drag his stim necklace again. “Can live with that. Right, Stevie?”

Steve’s eyes widened slightly, his breath hitching, and Bucky furrowed his brows, unable to figure out why.

“Yeah,” Steve said, schooling his expression when he saw Bucky’s puzzlement, which made it worse. “Can live with it fine.”


End file.
